


do you think love can bloom, even on a battlefield?

by usabuns



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Awkward Boners, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hance - Freeform, Hunk & Shiro (Voltron) Friendship, Insecurity, Lance & Allura (Voltron) Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pansexual Hunk (Voltron), Rating May Change, Referenced One-Sided Shatt, Romantic Frustration, Season/Series 02, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, non-established relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-20 04:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11913354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usabuns/pseuds/usabuns
Summary: —Wait.Hunk swears he feels something else, too, right at his crotch area: it’s a hot, pulsing sensation that brushes up against his cock, digging into the black, spandex-like fabric that clings to his groin.But the thing is— that erection isn’t his.It’sLance’s.Hunk is sure this can’t be real.Hunk likes Lance, and Lance likes Hunk. The problem is that neither of them think the other likes them back.





	1. I.

“So, what’s the plan?” 

The question hits Hunk like a freight train straight to the chest, shuddering his ribcage and making the air puff out of his lungs— because there really _is_ no plan. Any semblance of a coherent plan had been thrown out the window as soon as the group had been scattered and more Galra reinforcements had arrived. 

The paladins had been ambushed on a routine defensive mission, right from within the center of their position. Stranded and separated from their lions, Lance and Hunk had found themselves together, their last hope being fighting off the soldiers from behind the cover of rubble, shooting through a haze of loud gunfire and dropship engines whirring. 

Lance pops his upper body up occasionally, firing into the distance and pelting Galra sentries in the head. He’ll duck back down after a few seconds, and then bob half his head up to look around. But Hunk stays down, providing cover fire to where more sentries are flanking them from the sides. Once everything quiets down, Lance brings himself down again, his back firmly pressed against Hunk’s stomach and chest. 

And— it’s not like they haven’t shared a close personal space before, both voluntarily and out of necessity, but there’s something about the intensity of this particular situation that really _gets_ to Hunk. All of the sudden, this intimacy feels _strange_ and weirdly _sexual_ , for lack of a better term. It has to be just Hunk feeling like this—right? Just Hunk who’s suddenly getting the oddest ideas at _nothing_? 

Judging by the way Lance’s body touches his front, in such a calm manner, Hunk has to assume that this is _normal_ to him, just like all the other times. He shakes his head, clearing his mind, pushing the fantasies away, struggling for the right words. 

“Umm…” Hunk gives the briefest glance to Lance’s profile, and instantly he really, _really_ doesn’t want to tell him that he has no clue what to do. He pokes one gloved fingertip into his chubby cheek thoughtfully, shooting Lance a sheepish look. “The plan is…we wing it.” 

Admittedly, his statement is contradictory, but Hunk decides this is the best way to say it. He clutches his laser cannon close to his hip, wincing as more shots buzz overhead, skimming off the top of the metal debris they’re hiding behind. 

The expression on Lance’s face is curious as he gives Hunk a backwards glance. His voice is gravelly and low when he says, “In other words, we don’t have a plan.” Lance had always been much better at pointing out the obvious, Hunk thinks, even when it’s clear that Hunk wants to hide his uncertainty with a ruse of knowing what he’s doing. “Great, that’s...great.” 

“Well, do _you_ have any ideas?” And Hunk fully expects him to, because usually that’s how this whole conversation pans out—or at least how it’s panned out in the past. 

But Lance looks at him like he’s just told him to run out there guns blazing, and he gives an indignant shrug. “Honestly, I was gonna say to wing it too.” 

Hunk rolls his eyes somewhat good-naturedly, and shakes his head in an exasperated way. “Ass.” 

“I’ll stop being an ass if it makes you feel better,” Lance hums, a smirk already on his lips. He spins himself around, bracing his right side against the cold metal and winking at Hunk. In turn, Hunk sighs heavily, gripping the top handle of his cannon more roughly than before—more nervously, too, as if it’s his lifeline. It might as well have been. 

Then Lance cocks his own rifle at his shoulder, and pats Hunk on the arm before raising himself up and taking a good survey of the land. “Most of the troops are at our 12,” Lance relays, sniping a cascade of lasers into the closest sentries’ chests. “But— a few are flanking at 10 and 3.” 

Hunk follows his lead, planting his cannon up on top of the damaged shrapnel and shooting a barrage at the Galra soldiers nearest to their left side. Still, the right side doesn’t have much cover, aside from the occasional blast from Lance; since Hunk can’t maneuver his heavy artillery very swiftly, he can’t help with their three o’clock angle very much. 

“There’s too much area to cover,” Hunk shouts gruffly over the noise of the gunfire, as if it hadn’t been obvious. “ _Please_ tell me your version of ‘winging it’ doesn’t involve splitting up.” 

Lance reels back, allowing his overheated gun to cool down. “I’m not _that_ nuts, Hunk. Don’t think so low of me.” He clutches at his chest in fake betrayal, adding to the theatrics. Again, Lance has that teasing, shit-eating grin plastered across his face when Hunk looks down at him. After his gun is cooled, he’s up and in his usual position, but now he’s focusing more fire on the rightmost side, bombarding the sentries with a volley of quick, blue lasers. 

Hunk’s cannon takes longer to overheat, but eventually it does and he’s back behind their cover, resting his weapon on the floor and clenching his shaking hands. He pulls up the HUD on his helmet, scanning for a location on his lion. It’s far enough away that he can’t see it, nor the yellow shield that protects it—all sensors say it’s due North by at least a mile. Hunk sets the canary-colored dot as his destination, and the tracking system maps him a course. 

“We’ll get Yellow first,” Hunk says, mostly to himself. “The armor’s strong enough to hold against the fire from the airships, that way we can fly to Blue, and then meet up with the others…” He opens his HUD again, and once he scrolls for a bit, there’s a blinking, cyan-colored dot a few miles Northwest of his own lion. Hunk makes note of it for later. 

One of Lance’s eyebrows shoots up. “So we _do_ have a plan?” 

“I mean— I guess,” says Hunk with a shrug, scratching his chin. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a ‘plan,’ but, uh… It’s definitely a _start_.” 

“And that’s the best we’ve got right now,” Lance finishes, ducking down and crouching next to Hunk, who’s nodding his head. “We can work with this.” 

It’s another calm period before the inevitable storm; the gunfire is minimal and distant, and there hasn’t been an airdrop ship of reinforcements for a while now, but another wave of troops is sure to come soon. Nonetheless, they both take a moment to breathe behind the safety of the burned and battered metal. 

“—Yeah, uh-huh...” Hunk responds to him a little too late—so much so that Lance whips his head around, startled at the sound of his strained, tired voice. 

And—there’s a twinge of clenched determination visible past the anxiety on Hunk’s features, despite beads of sweat dotting his forehead and trailing from his helmet down onto his jawline. His hands have stopped shaking, but—his eyes are wide and clear, with his dark brows knitted into a sharp crease. 

Lance would be a fool not to notice the nervousness hidden behind a façade of a stable head. A stable head that Hunk usually has. So, Lance lightly punches his thick bicep and then rests his hand on top of it, smiling when Hunk looks up at him. “Relax, big guy. This’ll be a walk in the park, trust me. Where to we have to go?” 

The grin that Hunk gives is crooked and hesitant, but he peeks his head up over the debris, squinting through the smoke and struggling to see what fully lies behind the underbrush and low-hanging trees. “Umm— Straight ahead.” His sigh is particularly heavy when he lowers back down, looking Lance dead in the eye as he grumbles, “...Right where three-fourths of the troops are coming from, of course.” 

“ _Of course_ ,” Lance repeats, with a sad sort of laugh that’s brief, but pained. He still smiles, though—a genuine smile, if Hunk’s being honest; the kind of smile he’d make when piloting his lion or seeing a new planet for the first time. It makes Hunk’s entire face flush, because that smile is just so pure and happy and _real_ in its entirety. 

And then, once he’s lulled back from the frenzy in his brain, Hunk can’t help but sling an arm lazily around the narrow width of Lance’s shoulders, giving a deep chuckle as he squishes his frame close to his own side. “But it’ll be a walk in the park, remember?” Hunk mocks, eyes glinting mischievously. He stands up, turning his cannon back into its bayard form, and then it de-materializes at his thigh with a thin beam of light. 

Lance also stands, his bayard disappearing, and elbows Hunk in the belly. “Yeah, a piece of cake,” he teases, grin only widening at the blush that creeps up Hunk’s cheeks. 

“Very funny.” Hunk turns around and carefully slides in front of their cover, gesturing for Lance to follow him in close proximity. Before Lance can question him, Hunk explains, “We can use the forest to hide, and avoid as many troops as possible. But the thing is...I dunno if the air fleet will be able to see us or not. Since they’re so far above, they probably can.” 

Lance is a step or two behind Hunk in pace, watching as he moves through the fog, swatting leaves out of the way. “So we have to be quick. Got it.”  
  


* * *

  
Underfoot, there’s soft, damp mud that sticks into the soles of their boots, throwing off their traction. After a few minutes of walking, Hunk stops in place, hands pressed against the trunk of the nearest tall tree; and he listens for the footfall of Galra soldiers stomping along the trampled dirt path. They each hold their breaths until the loudest of the footsteps pass, then continue stalking quietly through the brush.

They’re walking near the edge of the woods now, where the haze begins to lessen. It’s easier to see the dark masses of figures as they pass by, guns cocked and robotic fingers clenched to the triggers. The air is thick with humidity, and it makes Hunk just so _hot_ and dizzy, especially with the tightness of his helmet constricting his head. Even the tension is tangible, exploding with an intense heat that can’t be quelled. 

“We’re close,” Hunk whispers, once Lance is walking at his side. Hunk rubs his hand along the roughness of a nearby tree trunk, and then a low-hanging branch. His heart’s beating less, but he can still vaguely feel its thumping. “The HUD says it should be a little Northeast of here. We’ve gotta cross that path and continue from there.” 

Hunk’s pointing to where the soldiers are marching, indicating that, yes, they’re going to have to run past the enemy. Lance is already readying his bayard when he snarkily says, “No problem. Easy peezy.” 

And Hunk’s not entirely sure if he’s saying that sincerely, or simply because Lance doesn’t want him to panic. But Hunk decides not to question it, and materializes his own bayard into his hands. 

Lance is already rushing into the outskirts of the clearing. “ _Easy peezy_ ,” Hunk repeats, with significantly less enthusiasm, jogging to catch up with him and then placing a hand on his shoulder. He tugs at Lance a little, but doesn’t stop him from walking forward. “Be careful,” he scolds in a whisper, his eyes narrowing. 

“Pssh. It’s fine.” Lance waves a dismissive hand, but quickly palms it against his rifle again. His finger is thumping against the trigger—itching to shoot—as he tiptoes, shifting the crosshairs of his bayard from side to side. “The coast’s clear. Let’s hurry, huh?” 

“ _Fine_?” Hunk purses his lips, adjusting his grip on his gun. “How can you be so nonchalant about this?” 

Lance’s pace quickens, and Hunk follows closely, his cannon’s added weight making him the slightest bit slower. “Because _I_ have to be the nonchalant one if you’re gonna get all panicky like this.” 

“ _What_ —” He raises his voice just a little, a hint of surprise seeping into his tone. “I am _not_ being _that_ panicky—” 

“— _Hunk_.” 

Hunk briefly pauses, a small frown appearing on his lips. “...Alright, so what if I am? It could be a lot worse—” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Lance stops, both talking and walking, and waits for a shadowy figure about five feet ahead of them to pass by. Hunk gasps quietly, but covers his mouth with his hands and then holds his breath. When it passes, Lance continues leading, and Hunk lets out a deep sigh. “See? That’s what I mean.” 

“Well, stop worrying about me then,” Hunk snaps, his voice lowering. “I’m okay, I promise.” It’s at that moment that his stomach gives off a low gurgle, and Hunk mentally screams. Lance looks back at him with raised eyebrows, his expression more than a little amused. “I just, ah— feel a little queasy…” 

A happy laugh comes from Lance. “Hang tight, then.” Lance pats his shoulder, and they both walk no more than ten feet when the giant leaves and trees come into view again, signalling that they’d found the other side of the path. They tuck each of their bayards away and stop betwixt a grove of blooming flowers. “How far until we’re there?” 

Hunk already has his helmet’s HUD pulled up. “Half a mile, more or less. The density of the forest makes it pretty hard to see where my lion is, but—it should be coming up soon. Keep your eyes peeled.” 

“Roger.” 

Stalking through this side of the woods was particularly uneventful. Strangely, there weren’t any large alien animals or carnivorous plants like Hunk had expected— _feared_ —and instead there were only small rodents scurrying through the underbrush and the wood of toppled tree trunks. 

They ran for several more minutes, weaving their way through the confusing maze of twists and turns and blockage in their path. They’re relentless in their traversing, until Lance taps Hunk briskly on his shoulder blade. 

“Found ‘im.” 

Hunk turns to Lance and follows the direction his finger’s pointing in—which leads directly to a translucent, hexagonal-patterned yellow shield peaking out from above the tops of the trees. 

“ _Bingo_.” Hunk really can’t help the massive, smug look that materializes upon his face, or the triumphant laugh that erupts straight from the pit of his stomach. He holds out a fist, which Lance gladly bumps. 

They move forward, Lance following Hunk as they scurry towards the Yellow Lion, narrowly avoiding thick roots ingrained into the dirt and the long branches overhead.  
  


* * *

  
Soon enough, Hunk’s lion comes into full view, seated elegantly in the middle of patchy clearing of short-cut grass that’s purple at the tips of the blades. They waste no time in jogging up to it, relief washing over the both of them almost instantaneously.

“Hey, boy.” Hunk’s lips curl up into a steady grin as the shield dissipates into nothing, and the eyes of his lion light up like a supernova. The Yellow Lion bows its head downward and unhinges its jaw, providing the entrance to the cockpit. 

Hunk spreads his palms out flat, extending his arms in a gesture of fake chivalry—it’s an exaggerated motion, of course, that points toward his lion. “Age before beauty.” 

“Even though you’re older than me? How vain.” But Lance, always aiming to entertain, gives a fake curtsy—which Hunk promptly snorts at—before stepping atop the metal ramp leading upward past the Yellow Lion’s teeth and into it’s mouth. Hunk follows once he passes. 

Lance takes only three more steps before yelping Hunk’s name while spinning around, grabbing him tightly by the shoulders as his footing falters. But Hunk, not having _nearly_ enough time to the abruptness of Lance’s actions, grunts as he’s forcibly pulled down to the ground— 

—on top of Lance. 

_He’s on top of Lance_. 

And Hunk freezes up, heat rushing to his face and his whole body tingling from the energy that surges up his spine. He swallows, nervously and thickly, his muscles tensing. _Shit_. 

Hunk can just _barely_ prevent himself from getting hard—it’s a challenge not to, with their bodies accidentally pushed so close together, with his chest and gut and thighs pressed against Lance’s like perfectly fitting puzzle pieces. He can feel all of Lance’s sharp angles firmly squished into his soft curves— 

— _Wait_. 

Hunk swears he feels something else, too, right at his crotch area: it’s a hot, pulsing sensation that brushes up against his cock, digging into the black, spandex-like fabric that clings to his groin. 

But the thing is— that erection isn’t his. 

It’s _Lance’s_. 

Hunk is sure this can’t be real. 

Blinking rapidly, he lifts himself off of Lance. “S-Sorry, sorry,” he spouts, stuttering and waving his hands apologetically. Despite only being on top of him for ten seconds _at most_ , Hunk’s still pretty fearful that he’s squashed Lance just a bit—but Lance laughs it off, sitting upright with the help of the hand Hunk had offered him. 

“No big deal. Just roughed me up a little, is all. Better watch my step, huh?” He laughs again, and this time Hunk offers up a meek chuckle of his own. 

Yep, it _definitely_ can’t be real. Not when Lance is so calm and collected and not the least bit embarrassed about allegedly rubbing boners with his best friend. 

Lance stretches, and before Hunk knows it he’s already walking back up into the Yellow Lion. “Well, we better get goin’, buddy.” 

He just imagined it, right? _Not real_ , Hunk reminds himself, shaking his head to clear it. Had to be a trick of the mind, an illusion from exhaustion to fulfill his weird, latent desires. Yeah. That’s the ticket. 

“— _Right_.” Hunk goes in after him. This was going to be a long ride.


	2. II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Hunk and Lance come to terms with their repressed feelings—in similar fashions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is chapter two. it's more emotional rather than filled with action like the last one, but it certainly picks up after this. i'm thinking this whole fic will be about 5-7 chapters??? somewhere in that zone. 
> 
> enjoy, and feedback is appreciated!
> 
> (unbeta'd, let me know if you spot any errors!)

Surprisingly, everything managed to go smoothly after that—exactly according to plan, Hunk would venture to say. 

They’d flown off on a relatively quiet trip to the Blue Lion, but it wasn’t without a few jokes and jabs, even though none were pertaining to certain _events_ that had taken place beforehand. Once Hunk landed near Lance’s lion, he was all too quick to usher Lance out—mainly because he had feared he’d say something stupid, or accidentally bring the awkward stuff up and make Lance feel horrible. 

But Hunk’s plan had worked out well, without any major hitches, and they’d also managed to meet up with the rest of Team Voltron and successfully defend against the Galran invaders. All in a day’s work, really, and it wasn’t anything they hadn’t experienced before, aside from the little details that made each scenario like this different. 

And while their mission hadn’t been anything unusual, Hunk couldn’t say the same about his mental state. Everything from the day previous had stuck firmly to the back of his mind, in his subconscious. Lance hadn’t brought anything up, and for that Hunk was grateful, but he still couldn’t help but feel… _different_ about their status quo. Like something was inherently odd, yet one-sided—restricted only to himself. 

Like he’d overheard a secret he wasn’t supposed to know, and Lance didn’t know that he knew it. 

Yeah. Something to _that_ effect.  
  


* * *

  
Hunk goes to the pool to relax.

It isn’t something he normally does, but he’s honestly too shaky to bake and too exhausted to tinker on anything. So—swimming had seemed like a viable thing to do at the time. 

When Keith and Lance had gone here initially, the problem had been that, well, the pool was on the _ceiling_ —but once they had all evaded Zarkon again, and there was another moment of calm, Hunk had taken a look at it and properly fixed the room’s gravity. 

Now it was in perfect working use, and the others often visited it whenever they had time (usually after combat practice), but Hunk… Well, he wasn’t the biggest fan. He much preferred beaches over pools, with the salt in the air and sand squishing between his toes. 

But they were all in space now, and it was no time to be picky—Hunk could deal with the chlorine smell and slippery floor tiles for now if it meant he got to dip in the water for a bit. 

He’s reluctant as he steps through the double doors, the sharp humidity of the room pelting his body and making him warm—and not the good kind, either. The itchy, sweaty, claustrophobic type of a warm. 

Hunk reaches for the towel hanging off his shoulder and plops it down onto the nearest chair. And eventually his hands find the hem of his shirt, which he, almost bashfully, tugs off over his head and drapes over the chair’s back. 

All he’s wearing now is a pair of yellow-and-white-patterned swim trunks that Lance had dug up somewhere, which clung tightly at his waist but hung loosely over his thighs. Still, Hunk thought them to be more _revealing_ than he would’ve liked, and highlighting all the wrong areas—but there was no one down here, right? So Hunk hadn’t given it a second thought when he’d pulled them on. 

Soon, he’s at the edge of the pool, and Hunk places his hands on his hips, overlooking the water and then sticking his foot in—it’s somewhere in between cool and lukewarm, but not too terribly chilly. 

He’s just about to lower himself in when a dark mass floats up from the bottom, at the deeper end, a torso bursting through the surface of the water and— 

“—Uahh, Sh-Shiro—” gasps Hunk, nearly choking and stepping backwards (almost knocking into his chair). 

Shiro tilts his head at Hunk’s shouting, wiping his floofy piece of hair back out of his eyes. “Oh. Hey there, Hunk.” 

“Stress relief?” Hunk supplies, raising his brow and giving him a pointed look. 

“Something like that. It’s therapeutic.” Shiro’s hands fall back under the water and he begins to float around, and that’s when Hunk notices just how _muscular_ he really is: a jawline so sharp that it could slice through diamonds; a broad chest but tapered waist; the flat planes of his stomach, peaking up into abs that could bend steel. He looked as if he was chiseled from holy stone by the gods themselves— 

— _Wow_ , Hunk’s just made himself feel a lot more self-conscious, and suddenly he’s darting his eyes and hugging his arms across his body, attempting in vain to show as little skin as possible. Or to, at least, not draw that much attention to himself. Not make himself seem so obvious. 

Then Shiro says, “—Why, you here to relax, too? Get your mind off things?” 

“Y-Yeah,” Hunk croaks, sighing as he finally takes a seat at pool’s edge, letting his legs dangle into the water. “A lot of things, actually.” 

Shiro’s swimming toward him, his brows knitting, and immediately Hunk regrets letting himself show so much unusual droopiness. “Such as?” A warm mixture of guilt and awkwardness forms in the pit of his stomach and coils itself up his spine. The room feels hotter, now, more constricting. He doesn’t will himself to answer; instead, Hunk gently kicks his feet underwater and hums softly. 

He zones out, an aloof frown on his lips, and during that time Shiro leans against the wall, bringing his robotic arm up to place atop the deck beside Hunk’s leg. Hunk only flinches slightly, blinking as he makes eye contact again. 

“What’s bothering you?” asks Shiro, his voice more gentle and less _pressing_ than before. 

Hunk’s shoulders slump, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t consciously known he’d been holding. “ _Nothing_ , really—at least not anything _important_. Not anything I’m _dying_ to tell anyone— Not anything worth telling you about. It’s really just, not that big a deal, honestly—Just me, you know, feeling stuff. Being emotional and all—” 

“—Okay, so the rambling _really_ gives it away.” Shiro is chuckling, but not in a hateful way—it’s in a way that’s like a parent watching their child discover something for the first time. He has his hand—his _real_ hand—pressed onto Hunk’s bicep, as if trying to coax a proper answer out of him, and now the only thing Hunk can really do is pinch the bridge of his nose and squeeze his eyes shut. “You can tell me. Talk about it. You don’t have to, but—” 

“—I’ve been _thinking_ a lot, and normally I’d go to Lance, but see— That’s kind of the problem. Or, like, he’s the reason for my thinking, I guess…” Hunk taps his chin, eyes going upward and staring at the ceiling. He has a tiny frown pulling his lips down. 

But Shiro removed his touch, holding up his hands calmly. “Ah. I should have figured.” He takes a deep inhale. “Are you guys _arguing_ or something?” 

Oh, Shiro. Poor, innocent, Shiro. If only things were that simple. “It’s— It’s more complicated than that, Shiro.” 

His ears seem to perk up at that, and suddenly Shiro whips his head around and lifts it up to face Hunk with a cheeky grin on his face. A blush spreads across Hunk’s cheeks when Shiro says, “ _Oh_ , so it’s _that_ kind of situation. _Those_ kinds of feelings.” 

“N-No, I mean— I’m just so sure it’s limited to me only. He can’t— Not with someone like _me_ —” 

“—Well, why not?” Hunk just stares, eyes narrowed as if to say _Are you kidding?_. Shiro crosses his arms, his lips pursed. “ _Listen_ , he’s already your friend, Hunk, so it’s not like he doesn’t like your personality—” 

“—You _know_ that’s not what I was getting at,” grumbles Hunk, his cheeks darkening another shade deeper as he hangs his head and pats a palm against his belly. 

“Let me finish,” Shiro sighs, sinking down into the water until he’s neck-deep. “You don’t know that Lance doesn’t already find your, ah, _physical appearance_ attractive.” 

“Most people don’t.” 

Shiro’s reply is immediate, smooth as silk, “But Lance isn’t ‘most people.’” Hunk mulls this line over, but stays silent. “Don’t think so low of yourself, Hunk.” 

Hunk scoffs, “That’s easy for _you_ to say, Adonis.” 

“Believe it or not, but I know how you feel. I was severely lacking in the self-confidence department when I was younger.” 

“...That _is_ hard for me to believe— But go on. I’m intrigued.” 

“Right, well— I was in similar circumstances: I realized I liked my best friend. More than liked, really— _loved_ would be a better word. And I know it sounds cliché, but—” 

Hunk rolls his eyes, knowing clearly where this is going. “—But you thought he couldn’t _possibly_ love you?” 

Shiro nods, almost wistfully. “It was one of my crew members from Kerberos. Pidge’s brother— _Matt_.” He says his name with a certain hurt in both his face and tone, making the slightest lurch of pity creep up in the depths of Hunk’s brain. 

“...And?” 

“And I didn’t think he’d like me, so I never— I never said anything. I never got the chance to tell him, and now he’s— Well…” Shiro clears his throat. “Don’t bottle up your emotions inside. Don’t make the same mistake I did, Hunk.” He smiles a rather sad smile and stretches his body back out of the water, standing firmly with his feet against the bottom of the pool. 

Hunk closes his eyelids, but a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth. “Can’t make any promises, but—” He swings his legs out of the water, propelling himself into a criss-cross position. “—I’ll try my best.”  
  


* * *

  
“He’s _hot_ , Allura. Like really, really hot. And I blew it already, basically, ‘cause—”

Allura sets her tea-filled cup down on the round table in front of her, listening intently as Lance spills his latest strife and gossip. She nods now and then, and sometimes closes her eyes and hums, but never interrupts—she’s prone to wanting to hear all the details and _then_ form an appropriate response. 

“—and I saw the look on Hunk’s face, and oh boy, I bet he never even wants to talk to me again. I bet he’s so weirded out, but he’s too nice and awkward to say it’s not mutual— That’s what’s happening right now, isn't it?” 

Lance lets his head fall unceremoniously, his face banging against the tabletop with a loud _thud_. The groan he lets out is nothing short of long and harsh, and his voice most definitely cracks more than once. 

“Lance,” Allura starts, delicately, clasping her hands together and sitting up straighter, “you need to stop overreacting. Surely there are some things that you’re reading into wrong—” 

“—But _Allura_!” he groans, shifting his neck so his gaze locks on her. Lance’s lips are forming a soft pout. “It just explains everything!” 

“Wouldn’t he tell you what he’s feeling? If he was disgusted or not?” Allura lets that statement sink in, and Lance perks up as if considering it. “You two are what the Earthlings call ‘best friends,’ yes?” Lance nods. “So you also confide in each other? Share personal space? Ask weird questions knowing you won’t be judged?” Lance nods after every one of the questions. “Then tell me, what is the issue, Lance?” 

“The problem _isn’t_ that I’m into dudes, or that Hunk’s into dudes when it applies—the _problem_ is that we’re supposed to be just _bros_ and nothing more!” 

The princess blinks calmly, and takes a deep inhale. “I see— But…” She’s choosing her words carefully, observing his body language for any signals to change her tone. She notices the twitch in his fingers and mouth, how his juice pouch is still relatively untouched, and then the way he’s slumped and slouched in his seat. “What makes you think you cannot be _more_?” 

“Because it’s just—wrong, Princess. Why do I have any right to jeopardize a good thing just ‘cause I wanna be a little selfish? See, it just—doesn’t work.” 

Allura doesn’t respond at first, only peers at Lance with narrowed eyes, sipping the remnants of her tea with lips poised upon the rim of her cup. She watches him squirm under her gaze, flashing her an angered look. Something about him is just… _aloof_. 

Like he doesn’t mean a word he says. 

“Are you telling the truth? Or are you hiding what your heart’s saying?” 

He taps his fingers against the tabletop, brows raised. “I mean— I don’t...really know anymore, Allura.” 

She tuts, a small, warm smile lighting up on her face. “Don’t be afraid, Lance, I’m sure Hunk won't think of you any differently if you tell him your honest feelings. You know he isn’t the type of person to abandon you like that.” 

“I know,” Lance sighs, jerking his head backward and leaning further against his chair. 

Allura’s next statement is deviously fluid and clear, “In fact, if I didn’t know any better I’d say Hunk’s in love with _you_ as well.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Lance barks, though a bright blush is creeping across his cheeks. He sighs again, but with significantly more frustration than before. “He’s _Hunk_ —so sweet and funny and loving and smart and _handsome_ , and— And what am _I_ compared to someone like him? Besides my good looks I’m _just Lance_ , and that’s it.” 

Abruptly, Allura reaches over the table and yanks Lance up by the collar of his jacket. “Do not speak like that.” Her grip is firm, with Lance staring at her with hopeless, dead eyes and she releases him, a spark of pity in the depths of her irises. “You are so much more than ‘just’ Lance. Though you may not think it, you are a valuable member of this team—just as important as anybody else. We all think that. Hunk thinks that. _I_ think that.” Her hands rest on either of his shoulders now, gently squeezing them in their palms. 

At first, Lance is silent, and Allura’s almost suspicious that he’s going to go on with the self-deprecation, but— A very tiny grin lifts his lips up, and he makes eye contact with Allura again. “Well, if a _princess_ really thinks I’m so macho and valuable—then it _must_ be true.” 

Allura beams. “That’s my Lance.” She leans down more, planting her elbow on top of the table for support, and pulls Lance into a delicate upper body hug that turns bone-crushing in an instant— And then she leans back just as quick, shaking him by his sides. “Now go get your man.”

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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